Traditions
by cheride
Summary: Thanksgiving at Gulls Way


_Traditions- Cheride_

_Rating: G_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

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"I'm still not sure I get the point, Sarah," Mark McCormick commented as he helped spread the russet colored cloth over the table.

Sarah Wicks looked across the table sternly. "The point, Mark," she replied, "is that the judge is looking forward to a nice Thanksgiving meal. And since I'm not going to be here tomorrow, I need to get everything ready so you two won't have to do all the work."

"You mean so _he_ won't have to do all the work," McCormick grouched. "I'm already doing it today."

The housekeeper halted the straightening of the tablecloth. "Mark McCormick. Let me tell you something, young man. Judge Hardcastle has always enjoyed Thanksgiving, but since his wife died, it has not been the same for him. The first year, some family came to be with him, so it wasn't too bad. And the next year, he accepted an invitation to a friend's home. But since then, he has been here at Gulls Way, alone, eating cold turkey sandwiches and watching football games." Privately, McCormick thought that didn't really sound like such a bad holiday, but he knew better than to interrupt, and Sarah was certainly continuing.

"Now, for some unknown reason, the judge has decided that he wants to share a more traditional holiday with you, and I expect that you are not going to do anything to ruin his Thanksgiving."

McCormick smiled at the older woman's protective attitude. He recognized it easily, as it was an attitude he was beginning to share. "Don't worry, Sarah," he assured her, "I won't let him down. You've cooked up enough food for an army, and I can re-heat with the best of them. Now you go ahead and get the last of your stuff together, and I'll finish setting the table before I drive you to the airport. I'll have everything ready for your inspection before we leave."

Sarah appreciated the young man's sincerity. Such moments had been rare in the few months he had been in residence, but he always seemed to know just when they were needed. Not for the first time, she thought that Judge Hardcastle had chosen well this time around. She smiled, and let him see the twinkle in her eyes as she gave her final instructions.

"Just don't break the china."

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McCormick was reaching lazily for another handful of popcorn. He casually changed direction, hoping to discreetly take possession of the remote control. The sudden smack on his hand told him he hadn't been discreet enough. "I'm tired of watching the news, Judge!" he complained as he snatched his hand away.

Milton Hardcastle grinned. "Too bad," he answered firmly. "You need to keep up with what's going on in the world, kid."

"Yeah? Well here's a newsflash for you: the "news at eleven" hasn't changed since the news at seven, or even five, and tomorrow it's gonna be rehashed at noon. Honestly, I was thinkin' about boosting a few cars just to give 'em something new to talk about."

"That's not funny, McCormick," the judge snapped. Realizing he'd spoken more harshly than he intended, he lightened his tone. "And besides, what makes you think you're important enough to make the news, no matter what you do?"

"Not me, Hardcase…you. Plenty of folks watching this little experiment of yours. I fall on my face and you turn into a pretty big laughingstock."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Hardcastle growled, and McCormick realized immediately that they were headed toward shaky ground. That happened sometimes, usually when they were both tired; harmless jokes would hit a little too close to home. He was getting better at recognizing the signs, though, and it had been almost a week since there had been any real flare-ups.

The young man steered them back on track with simple honesty. "No, I wouldn't like that, Judge; I wouldn't like it at all."

Hardcastle appreciated the effort. "You can pick what we watch next, okay?"

McCormick grinned. "Okay." He threw a fistful of popcorn into his mouth and sprawled in his chair, leg draped over the arm. He thought he could really get used to this.

"McCormick, can't you ever sit up straight?"

The ex-con ignored the common complaint. "Sarah says you like to have your holiday bounty at noon; is that right?"

Hardcastle looked at him warily, prepared for the mocking. "Yeah. So?"

"So nothin'. I just wanted to make sure I had your honor's meal prepared at the appointed time."

The judge sighed slightly. "Okay, kiddo, go ahead and tell me how goofy you think this whole thing is, the two of us having this big ol' meal all by ourselves."

McCormick raised an inquiring eyebrow. "What?" He let a small smile play across his face. "No, Judge," he said softly, "I don't think it's goofy at all. In fact, I think it's kinda nice." He paused, having no intention of admitting just how nice he really thought it was, especially the idea that Hardcastle had chosen to include him in the holiday. Some things were definitely better left unsaid.

"And besides," he continued after a moment, reverting to form, "the bigger the meal, the more leftovers we have." He grinned. "How can we go wrong?"

Hardcastle smiled in return. Sometimes this kid could be all right. "It'll be great, McCormick, you'll see. We'll carve the turkey, and have a great meal. We'll watch football for a while, and then we'll eat some more. It's a Hardcastle tradition." His smile grew bigger as he thought about the day ahead. "Got any McCormick traditions you want to add into the mix?"

The judge was unprepared for the wall that seemed to immediately surround McCormick. "No."

"What? No family games or special recipes?" Hardcastle seemed determined to lighten McCormick's suddenly somber mood, unaware he was only making things worse.

"No," Mark repeated blandly. Then, seeing the judge eye him curiously, he offered an explanation. "It was mostly just me and my mom, Hardcastle, and she worked a lot." He willed the pain from his voice as he added, "But she always made sure I had a turkey TV dinner."

Hardcastle felt his heart break just a little. He had always assumed the lack of familial information in McCormick's file was nothing more than poor record-keeping. He had known his mother died when Mark was a young teenager, but he had never really given much thought to the string of foster homes and juvenile shelters he'd read about. Unfortunate, but it happened to a lot of kids.

But now, looking into the empty eyes that had been filled with life just minutes earlier, Hardcastle realized forcefully that it had happened to _this_ kid. "McCormick…"

The young man pulled a hand through his curly hair and attempted a lop-sided grin. "It's okay, Hardcase; all that was a long time ago. Besides, my unfortunate, misspent youth paved the way for some truly memorable traditions later in life. Take the last couple of years, for instance. After moving in a single-file line to the dining establishment, we'd take turns counting the lumps in our mashed potatoes, then spend the afternoon telling stories about all the unpleasant things we'd like to see happen to various and sundry members of the judicial community. Oh, yes, it was quite the holiday gala."

McCormick abruptly returned his attention to the popcorn bowl; he hadn't meant for his humor to have such a bitter edge.

"It's prison, McCormick," Hardcastle said roughly, "you're not supposed to enjoy it there."

They were on that shaky ground again. McCormick could feel it, but he didn't have the strength to re-direct them again. "Yeah, well you're not supposed to be innocent there, either."

"Are we starting with that again?"

McCormick gawked. What was it about this one topic that the donkey couldn't seem to grasp? "Are we starting- - -? Hardcastle, we don't ever _stop_ with that. You think I'm just supposed to forget that you took two years of my life from me? Not likely."

It was the judge's turn to stare. If he tried hard, he thought maybe he could understand how such a simple conversation had deteriorated to such disaster, but that would require more effort than he was willing to expend at the moment. And besides, whatever had gone on in this kid's past, he still needed to learn some respect.

"I didn't take anything from you, McCormick. You gave it up when you took the Porsche."

McCormick just shook his head. "Whatever."

Hardcastle watched as the younger man solemnly shoveled popcorn into his mouth. Good. Maybe they could just be done with this insanity. But then he remembered one of McCormick's sarcastic remarks.

"So what kind of things were you wishing on me, McCormick?"

The ex-con almost choked on his latest kernel. "What?" The shaky ground was collapsing. "Judge, let's not do this. Let's just finish watching the news." The bitterness had vanished from his tone; he was almost pleading.

"So you don't want to brag about it now, huh?"

McCormick sighed. "I can be pretty inventive, Judge. And you weren't my favorite person."

The judge was grateful for the past tense. But still… "And now?"

"Now?" Mark grinned slightly. "Now you're the Lone Ranger."

"Is that good or bad?"

A slight shrug. "The jury's still out on that one, Hardcase."

The unsteady ground finally gave way, and Hardcastle's features hardened suddenly. "Don't put yourself out any on my account, McCormick. Good or bad, it's what you're stuck with, so you might wanna think about gettin' used to it." He rose from his chair and started out of the room, but paused at the doorway. "And don't worry about tomorrow, either. Thanksgiving dinner isn't part of the parole agreement, and you don't have to be here."

McCormick was stunned by the sudden hostility from Hardcastle. "What? Judge, I didn't mean- - -"

"Forget it," Hardcastle interrupted coldly, and disappeared from the den.

McCormick stared in disbelief at the empty doorway. Jeez, living with Hardcastle could be like crossing a minefield sometimes, and he absolutely had not been prepared for this latest explosion. He didn't know how to fight what he didn't understand, and he certainly didn't understand what had just happened. He hadn't intended to offend the judge with any of his comments, and he thought he had managed to undo the harm unintentionally caused when he got wrapped up in his own holiday memories. Clearly he had been wrong about that.

Oh, well. Old Hardcase blew his top a lot, but he usually calmed down pretty quickly. McCormick decided he would just wait until the judge came to his senses and came back downstairs; then they could work things out.

As it turned out, it was quite a wait. He stayed in the den for a while, but he had no interest in the television. He lost track of the times he surfed up and down the channel dial, only to end up right back where he started, and nothing held his attention. At one point he wandered into the kitchen for a snack, only to find that he had no appetite whatsoever, and that annoyed him more than anything Hardcastle had done. No way he was supposed to let the crazy old judge upset him like this; that had never been part of the deal.

But why hadn't the donkey come back down yet? Whatever he had done wrong, he couldn't apologize until the old guy got over his tantrum.

Finally, McCormick had admitted to himself that Hardcastle wasn't coming back downstairs. Faced with the option of waiting until the next day to figure out what in the hell was going on or intruding upon the judge's self-imposed solitude, he decided he could wait. He had slowly turned off the television and all the lights, then pulled the door closed behind him as he started toward the gatehouse.

As he walked, he tried not to dwell on the sadness that had settled in his heart, and he was struck with the idea that that might just be the truest McCormick tradition of all.

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Hardcastle lay in the dark, thinking more than he wanted. He wasn't entirely sure what had caused the argument downstairs, but he had the uncomfortable idea that he might be the one to blame. In retrospect, he could recognize McCormick's efforts to put aside his own resentment and keep the conversation civil. But something had made him lash out at the young man, and he found himself defensive when he didn't need to be. Yes, it had definitely been his fault, but he wasn't about to go back downstairs and try to apologize until he understood why it had happened, and so he lay in the dark. Thinking more than he wanted.

He had been able to hear McCormick downstairs for a while, moving from den to kitchen and back again. He'd heard the unmistakable sound of television stations being changed aimlessly, and he'd wondered if the kid was going to stay down there forever.

But finally he'd heard the door close, almost as if the young man had given up the idea that the judge would simply grow up and come back downstairs.

Oh well. It wouldn't be a family holiday without at least one little spat.

Hardcastle jolted as the thought ran through his mind. Family holiday? McCormick wasn't his family. Hell, half the time he wasn't even sure they were friends.

And then he began to realize what had happened downstairs. They _were_ becoming friends, he and McCormick. He hadn't planned on it, wasn't sure he even wanted it, but it was happening just the same. At least for him. The conversation this evening had brought home to him with sudden clarity that McCormick viewed their relationship differently. He was surprised to find that the realization hurt just a little, and that's when he finally understood the argument: he was pushing McCormick away. Far better to do that than to let himself be pushed away. If the kid wanted to keep things just business, that was fine with him.

Of course, he was to blame for that, too. After all, he was the one who had laid down the law from the start; he wasn't looking for them to be buddies. Couldn't really blame the kid for taking him at his word, though he wished now that he had been less antagonistic in the beginning. His early certainty that the young man should be kept at arm's length seemed to be backfiring on him now, though things seemed to have been moving along okay until the unexpected argument this evening. Which brought him right back to the fact that it was his own fault that he was lying here in the dark wondering about the nature of his relationship with the ex-con in his custody, and he wasn't any more pleased with that idea now than he had been an hour ago.

So, tomorrow, he would try to make up for tonight, and then maybe they could settle down for a traditional holiday. At the very least, maybe things would get back to normal. Whatever in the hell that was.

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McCormick placed the last dish of food on the table and stepped back to survey his handiwork. _Not bad_, he thought with a small smile; _Hardcase will like it_. He hoped. The smile faded as he remembered the argument from the night before. He had intended to apologize to the judge first thing this morning, but when he'd wandered over from the gatehouse, the main house had been empty. Sarah had told him that Hardcastle would probably visit the gravesites of his family today, and that he should be prepared to help the judge cope with any lingering depression. But the jurist had been gone what seemed like a long time, so McCormick had taken the opportunity to run a quick errand of his own, and when he returned to the estate, Hardcastle had been closed up in the den, keeping to himself again. Once more McCormick had been left with the option of intruding or waiting, and he had once again decided discretion was the better part of valor. He would not interrupt until he had no choice.

But now he was out of time. The food was heated, the table was set, and he had taken the time to slip a sport coat on with his shirt and jeans. There really was nothing more to be done. So, with a final backward glance at the table, he left the dining room and approached the closed double-doors of the den.

Taking a deep breath, McCormick knocked lightly, then entered the den without waiting for a response. Forward, he knew, but he didn't intend to be sent away. He wasn't prepared for the greeting he received.

"Mark." Hardcastle's smile lit his face. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

The young man smiled in return, immediately relieved. "You too, Judge." He paused. "About last night…" he began.

"Forget about it," Hardcastle interrupted, "completely my fault. I should know by now not to take your lip too seriously."

McCormick chuckled. "Probably; though you'd think by now I'd learn to keep a lid on it, at least occasionally."

The judge winked at him. "Oh, you're not doing so bad." He sobered slightly. "So, seriously, are we okay?"

Surprised by the rare moment of openness, McCormick took a moment to respond. But there really was only one answer. "We're more than okay, Judge."

Hardcastle clapped his hands together. "Okay, then. So do you need help with lunch?"

"Nope; everything's ready. But, listen, before we eat…" Mark hesitated. This had seemed simpler in his mind. But Hardcastle was looking at him with a quizzical expression that held no judgment, so he continued.

"Well, there is one McCormick tradition I was gonna tell you about."

Hardcastle offered a gentle smile. "Okay."

"The year that I was five," McCormick began slowly, "my mom thought it was important that I really think about the good things in our lives instead of the bad."

"You were a cynic at five?" Hardcastle interjected.

A small, sad smile flashed across the young face. "Not exactly," he replied noncommittally; Hardcastle didn't need to know all of the details of his young life. "She just thought it would be good for me to focus on the things that were going our way instead of the things that weren't. She said that was the point of the day.

"So anyway, that year, she came into my room early before she went to work and gave me a little notebook." He pulled a well-worn memo pad from his jacket pocket. "This one." He held onto the notebook lovingly, protectively.

"She said I should make a list of the things I was grateful for in my life. Of course, I barely knew my letters and all, so she had to help a lot, but it was kinda neat. Then she made her own list in her own notebook. From then on, every Thanksgiving morning, we'd spend a few minutes together and make a list. After she died, I almost didn't make my list that year, but I decided she would really want me to keep it up, so I made myself do it."

McCormick took a small breath, then went on. "And I've done it every year since then. Sometimes my list was really long, and sometimes it was hard to come up with even a couple of things to write down, but there's always something, if you really think about it."

Hardcastle felt his heart fill with emotion; he had never expected the kid to be so open, especially after last night. "Sounds like you got the idea of what she was trying to teach you," he said thickly.

McCormick smiled. "Yeah, I think so. But you know, I've been making my list alone for a long time now, and I thought this year it might be kinda nice to have company again." He reached into his jacket once more and removed a brand new memo-pad. Crossing the room, he tossed it onto the desk in front of the judge. "Interested?"

Hardcastle found his eyes blinking rapidly; this kid was killin' him today. He found his voice; "Of course I'm interested," then grabbed the notebook and found a pen.

With a smile, McCormick dropped into an easy chair with his own pen and pad. For a moment, he watched the judge scribbling easily onto the paper, then he turned his attention to his own page.

If he had given it any thought before this day, he would've assumed 'freedom' would be at the top of this year's list, so he was surprised to find himself writing a very different word: Hardcastle.

He paused and looked up again from the paper in front of him, but nothing about the figure hunched over the desk across the room caused him to change his mind, so he happily went back to his list.

After a couple of minutes, McCormick placed the notebook back into his jacket; Hardcastle was sitting motionless, simply watching. "All done?" the jurist inquired.

McCormick nodded. "Yep. You?"

"I am." Hardcastle smiled slightly. "And it was kinda fun; thanks for letting me join you."

The ex-con smiled in return. "Any time." He rose from his chair. "But now we should go eat, before everything gets cold again."

The judge rose also, and crossed the room to join McCormick on the landing. He paused long enough to stand face to face with the young man. "It's gonna be a great day, McCormick; a traditional family Thanksgiving. Your traditions and mine."

McCormick didn't expect the warmth that flowed over him. Every once in a while this old donkey turned into a real pussycat.

The young man grinned broadly. "Your traditions and mine, huh, Hardcase? And maybe we'll even manage to start a few of our own; whatta ya say?"

Hardcastle eyed his young charge carefully; when those eyes were twinkling like that, there was just no telling what might happen next. He was almost afraid to ask, but… "Our own?"

"Sure. Maybe we can arm wrestle for the drumsticks, predict the number of times you're gonna tell me not to talk with my mouth full, tell ghost stories about crazy old judges who take in renegade ex-convicts…"

"Get your butt into the dining room, McCormick," the judge interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Mark was still talking as Hardcastle pushed him down the hallway. "Oh, and maybe we could bet the remote control on the wishbone, or…"

Walking behind his friend, Hardcastle just grinned. This was definitely going to be a great holiday.


End file.
